


heaven won't take me back

by daughterofrohan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), written under the influence of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 13:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofrohan/pseuds/daughterofrohan
Summary: They say before you start a war, you'd better know what you're fighting for.





	heaven won't take me back

**Author's Note:**

> It is a universally acknowledged truth that a grad student with a deadline will instead drink an absurd amount of beer and write a one-shot almost as long as her thesis proposal.

“We have to go,” Steve tells them once they’ve all left their cells, Wanda wincing as she tries to rub the feeling back into her arms after being freed from her straightjacket. “We don’t have much time before they figure out what’s happened and I want to be far away from here by then.”

Sam puts voice to the question they’re all thinking. “Where are we going?”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Steve answers, “but I’m headed back to the compound.”

Wanda’s eyes widen. “Will Stark-”

Steve shakes his head, interrupting her mid-thought. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

It almost seems too easy, the way they pile into the jet Steve’s parked on the roof of the prison and vanish into the night, the slate-grey ocean waters roiling beneath them, a reminder of the horrors that still keep their minds imprisoned, even if their bodies are free. They sit in the silence they’ve become accustomed to, drawing strength from each other.

It’s Wanda who finally speaks first. “Thank you.”

They echo her gratitude in murmurs, and Clint slides into the seat beside Steve, who’s been piloting the jet. “Get some rest, Cap. I can take it from here.”

“You should rest, Barton.”

Clint can’t quite disguise the harshness in his laugh. “I’ve done nothing _but_ rest. I’ll be fine.”

Steve reluctantly hands control of the jet over to Clint, sinking to the ground beside Sam, who’s spent the past hour staring straight ahead, a haunted expression in his eyes.

“Some stuff you leave there,” Steve says gently, echoing words he once heard his friend speak in what feels like another century. “Other stuff you bring back.”

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon by the time Clint docks the jet in the landing bay outside the compound. They move like zombies, wordless and automatic, as they exit the jet and make their way towards the doors that, for so long, have promised safety. What waits on the other side, however, is Tony.

“You’ve got some nerve, Rogers.”

Steve shrugs. “I prefer to call it faith in humanity. This is our home too, Stark.”

Tony sighs deeply, resigned. “I’ll order pizza.”

Clint slips down the hallway and into the room he used to occupy here, the one he shared with Natasha as often as not. Her favourite sweater, one that used to be his, is still slung haphazardly across his chair, and a forgotten cup of tea - half-empty and long cold - lingers on his desk, her lipstick stains adorning the rim. He shoves clothes into a duffel systematically, pausing at the last minute to add Natasha’s sweater before he leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

“You’re not staying,” Steve notes when Clint reappears amongst the rest of them, duffel slung over his shoulder.

He shakes his head. “Heard anything from Nat?”

“I heard the whole world’s looking for her,” Tony pipes up from across the room. “You really think you can find her?”

Clint slips a hand into his pocket, his fingers tracing the outline of the burner phone he rescued from his desk drawer mere minutes ago. “I hope.”

It’s a feeling they’ve all taught each other over the years. To believe, to dream.

To hope. 

* * *

It’s easy to be anonymous in Seattle, Natasha thinks. With the constant hustle and bustle of people coming and going and staying and leaving, it’s easy to lose track of who belongs and who is just passing by. Somehow, she isn’t either.

The weight of the backpack slung across her shoulders is beginning to feel familiar in a way that both relieves and scares her. She wonders if the weight of a gun in her hand might feel foreign now. Pulling her baseball cap low over her eyes, she spares a glance up and down the street before ducking into the small coffee shop behind her. The habit of scanning for threats has become so ingrained in her that she doubts she could ever shake it, despite the fact that she’s almost certain they’d never recognize her. With a muted brown covering her trademark red hair and an oversized flannel hiding her small frame, she looks nothing like the Black Widow.

The man behind the counter greets her with a friendly smile. “Your usual?”

She nods, returning his smile with one of her own. “Thank you.”

The second he turns to make her drink she hears a low voice in her ear, one that would have caused her to jump, had she been anyone else. “You have a _usual_?”

She knows she can’t acknowledge him here, knows it’s risky enough that he’s come to meet her like this, out in the open. Instead, she forgoes her usual seat by the fireplace in the corner of the shop and takes her coffee to go, walking the short distance down the street before stopping before a house with a bright red door. Not once does she look back to see if he’s following her. They’re both smarter than that.

The knock on her door comes twenty minutes later. “Sorry to trouble you,” he says as she opens the door, “but I think my cat may have gotten into your backyard again.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she tells him warmly. “Come on in.”

“It’s safe here,” she tells him as soon as the door falls shut. “How did you find me?”

“I know you.”

“Were you followed?”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a grimace. “I’m technically still in prison. Speaking of which, can I use your shower? Personal hygiene hasn’t been high on the priority list these last six months.”

“Bathroom’s the last door to your left,” she says, tilting her head towards the hallway. “Towels are on the top shelf in the cupboard.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says softly, his fingertips brushing her shoulder lightly. Neither of them mention the shiver that goes through her at his touch. Natasha stares at her hands, looking up only when she hears the faint sound of water running from down the hall.

When Clint returns to the kitchen, hair glistening from his shower, it’s to find Natasha sitting with her head in her hands, an empty bottle of scotch on the table in front of her.

“Drink much, Nat?” Clint jokes, trying to keep his voice light.

“In my defense, it was three quarters empty when I started.”  
“Not to worry.” Clint lifts the duffel in his hand. “I brought reinforcements.” Her eyes follow his movements as he reaches into the bag, pulling out a six-pack of beer, followed by the sweater of hers that he’d packed on a whim. She pulls it over her head, fisting her hands into the sleeves, and accepts the bottle that he holds out towards her.

They drink in silence. It’s not until Clint’s finished his first beer and is reaching for a second one that she finally speaks.

“I almost had it all figured out, Clint. I thought the world really was better off without us. And then…” she pauses, lifting her bottle to her lips again. “And then I saw something on the news about a sex trafficking ring in DC. And then a school shooting in New York City. Things we could have stopped. Things we never used to let happen so close to home.” And finally she looks at him, lost. “What happened to us?”

“Maybe we got so caught up in saving the world that we forgot about saving ourselves.”

Natasha lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Earth’s mightiest heroes. That’s what they used to call us. Now we’re just…Earth’s most wanted.”

“We’re not criminals, Nat.”

“I’m hiding like one. They put you in _jail_ , Clint. I…I…” she shakes her head, unable to form the words, her empty bottle shaking slightly in her hand.

“Hey.” Clint slides his chair closer to hers so he can loop an arm around her shoulders. “Nat, hey, it’s okay. I’ve been worse places, you know,” he comments with a wry smile.

She leans her head against his shoulder as she looks up at him, her eyes shining. “I should have been there with you. It’s my fa-”

“Stop that. Don’t tell me this is your fault, Nat. I knew what I was getting myself into. We all did.”

“Easy to say when you chose the _noble_ side.”

“Do you really believe that?” Clint asks her.

She shrugs, Clint’s arm shifting on her shoulder with the movement. “I don’t know.”  
“Steve told me what you said to him.”

“What’s that?”

“Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” Clint quotes. “You were trying to keep us together. Your family. No one can fault you for that.”

“Stark can.” _Sticks in the DNA_. It’s been six months, and the pain of those words has yet to fade. She gathers her knees up to her chest; a gesture that makes her look impossibly young, and it hits Clint how much she’s been through, how much they’ve _all_ been through in such a short time.

“He’ll come around.” Clint squeezes her shoulder gently.

Natasha shakes her head. “This isn’t _me_ , Clint. This ‘path of least resistance’ thing, laying down and letting the government walk all over me. That’s never been how I operate.” The last part comes out like a question, almost as if she’s looking for reassurance.

“But you didn’t. You did more for Steve and Bucky than any of us could have.”

“I _lied_ , Clint. Because that’s what I do. That’s what I’m good at. I lied to the only people left in this world who thought they could trust me.”

“Hey.” He turns in his chair so that he’s facing her, taking her hands in his. “You were the only one who told the truth when SHIELD fell.”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “And look where that got us.”

“Do you remember what you told me after Loki?” When she shake her head, eyes wide, he continues. “You told me this was nothing we were ever trained for. These wars, Nat, they’re so much bigger than any of us. We just have to do what we can.”

“And what if that’s not enough?”

Clint pulls the phone out of his pocket and holds it out towards her so she can see the screen that displays Tony’s message. _If you find her tell her to come home._

“If that’s not enough…” he shrugs. “Then we hope.”

* * *

“So.” Natasha props her feet up on the dashboard as Clint pulls onto the highway. It’s a long drive back to the compound, but considering they’re both on the run and it’s been a mere 24 hours since Clint broke out of a maximum security prison, they have no option but to drive. “What did I miss?”

“Barnes is back on ice,” Clint tells her.

Natasha whips her head around to look at him. “Who-?”

“Steve. Barnes asked him to. Said it was the safest thing for everyone involved.”

“For how long?”

“Until there’s a cure. At least, that’s what they’re saying.”

“There’s no cure.”

“You can’t say that, Nat.”

“Was there a cure for you after Loki? Was there a cure for me when I escaped the Red Room? He’ll never stop being a danger to himself, to everyone around him. It doesn’t _end_.”

“So are you saying we should leave him frozen forever?”

Natasha shakes her head slowly. “I’m saying maybe it’s time to go wake him up. For good.”

“You never stop surprising me, Romanoff.”

For the first time since he arrived on her doorstep, her face shows the shadow of a smile. “Someone has to keep things interesting around here.”

“You know,” Clint remarks, “after all this, I wouldn’t exactly be mad if things were incredibly boring for a while.”

This earns him a real smile; a small one, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ve been retired for the past six months. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I’m not sure it actually counts as retirement if you’re on the run from the law,” Clint says, letting out a low chuckle.

“Close enough,” Natasha shrugs, stifling a yawn.

“Sleep,” Clint tells her.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be okay for the next while.”

“Wake me up when you need a break.”

Clint nods in acknowledgement and Natasha closes her eyes, relaxing back into the headrest and trying to will herself to sleep. Sleep, however, has been something that’s eluded her over these past months, and tonight proves to be no exception. At first, she’d thought it was the raw emotion consuming her that wouldn’t allow her to rest. Then, as weeks had passed, she’d begun to think that it was concern for her teammates, her family. But now, even though she knows that her team is safe at least for the moment, knows that Clint is by her side, sleep proves to be just as elusive as before.

When Clint finally pulls over at a gas station, Natasha slips out of the car to stretch her legs. It’s nearing two in the morning and the truck stop is mercifully empty, meaning they don’t have to go to great pains to conceal their identities while trying to fill up on gas. She spares a glance up, immediately struck by the vast expanse of sky above them, peppered with stars that seem impossibly bright.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clint’s voice is soft as he walks up behind her, pressing a Styrofoam cup into her hand. He’s always had a soft spot for the country, the wide open spaces, the quiet solitude miles away from the buzz and bustle of the city. It’s one of the few parts of his childhood he remembers fondly.

“Yeah,” she breathes, leaning back into him. Clint’s arm comes up around her waist almost reflexively as he rests his chin on her shoulder. It’s the most physical contact they’ve had in six months, and he can feel the underlying tension coursing through Natasha’s body even though she’s consciously relaxing into him. He doesn’t blame her, really, considering the last time they saw each other he’d been trying to hurt her.

They’ve sparred countless times, but it’s always been safe, controlled. They’ve only truly _fought_ twice, and the first time he’d been under Loki’s mind control, just aware enough that he knew he was hurting her, but unable to stop himself. He knows she’s tough, tougher than anyone he’s ever met, but the idea of causing her pain still makes him sick to his stomach.

“We should get going,” Natasha murmurs.

Clint hums in agreement, stepping back towards the driver’s seat.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Natasha looks pointedly at the coffee in his hand.

He does a quick mental calculation. “About 40 hours?”

“You’re not driving.”

“I’m fine, Nat. Trust me.”

“I can’t sleep anyways,” she argues. “I might as well drive.”

“I’ll let you know when I need a break.”

Natasha acquiesces, slipping into the passenger seat as Clint starts the car. They’re both silent as he peels out of the truck stop and back onto the highway, the lights of the gas station quickly fading into the distance behind them. “So.” She sips at her coffee. “I never asked. How was prison?”

“How rude of you,” Clint comments with a grin. “I had a lovely time in prison, thank you for asking.”

“Clint.” She’s trying to sound stern but she can’t quite conceal her smile.

“What? Nobody trying to kill me, no paperwork, food brought straight to my cell, I mean what’s not to love?”

Natasha shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”

“You missed me.”

“You know I’m not sure that’s true.” Her hair flips over her shoulder as she turns her head to look at him, a coy smile on her face.

Clint reaches out, tugging absentmindedly on one of her curls, the tension that’s been between them dissolved at least for the moment. “New colour?”

“Helps, when you’re trying to disappear.”

“I don’t like it.”

She pats him on the arm reassuringly. “The red will grow back.”

They spend the drive in easy conversation, sharing jokes and stories, with Natasha slipping into the driver’s seat as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, sometime between five and six in the morning. If they try, they can pretend it’s just another mission, that they’ll pull into base and Coulson or Hill or Fury will assign them mounds of paperwork that they’ll jokingly complain about before going back to one of their apartments, usually Natasha’s, where they’d order takeout and watch Netflix to unwind, paperwork lying forgotten on their desks. Clint sighs. He misses SHIELD. SHIELD was easy. SHIELD was safe.

“SHIELD was corrupt,” Natasha reminds him, and he realizes he’s spoken out loud.

“I’m allowed to miss it, Nat.”

“You are,” she agrees. “ _We_ are. Just don’t fall into the trap of thinking that the best years of your life are already behind you.”

“Did I miss when you turned into Gandalf?” Clint jokes.

“You’d be surprised how many times you can marathon Lord of the Rings in six months.”

“Nerd.”

“Right, because _I_ was the one who _insisted_ we dress up for that Star Wars premiere.”

“You made a very cute Wookie.”

“Okay that’s _it_. I’m taking you back to jail.”

“Awwww, Nat, don’t be mad. A Wookie is a noble creature.”

“Which is why everyone was laughing at me.”

Clint nods. “Exactly.”

* * *

The sun is setting on their second day of travel as they pull into the compound. All of a sudden, Natasha feels on edge. Clint touches her arm gently, sensing her unease. “Hey. Nobody here wants to hurt you.”

“That’s what you told me when I first came to SHIELD.” Natasha’s voice is wistful. “Do you remember?”

“You didn’t believe me then.”

“I don’t believe you now.”

Clint shrugs. “You will.”

There’s a damp chill in the air as they exit the car, and Natasha presses herself into Clint’s side in equal parts for warmth and for comfort. He presses a hand against the small of her back, guiding her towards the door.

Warm air greets them as they walk inside, a fire crackling in the hearth to their left, the couches in front of it filled with their teammates, displaying expressions ranging from shock to delight to disbelief.

There’s a beat. Silence. And then everyone begins to speak at once.

They’re welcomed, quite literally, with open arms.

Sam cracks open a beer for each of them as Steve pulls Natasha into his arms, whispering thanks into her ear. Wanda hugs them both tightly, her grin wider than Clint thinks he’s ever seen it. The noise dies down suddenly as Tony comes to stand in front of them, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking from Natasha to Clint and back to Natasha. He opens his mouth, pauses, closes it, and then opens it again. When he finally speaks it’s to tell them, “We ordered extra Chinese. If…you guys are hungry.”

Natasha lets out an audible sigh.

“Wanda doesn’t let me cook anymore,” Vision says, by way of explanation.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “It’s for the best.”

Steve roars with laughter and just like that, tension dissolves, or at least it appears to, and they fall back into the easy camaraderie that made them a team, a _family_ , before the Accords divided them. They move around each other with practiced ease, exchanging jokes and stories, both old and new. There’s still hurt underneath it all, still wounds that need healing, but they’ve always been broken. It’s the one constant they share; their brokenness. But with it comes an ability to heal each other.

An ability to hope.

* * *

Moonlight streams through the half-open window as Clint’s eyes flicker open. The bed next to him is cold, empty, and a quick glance at the clock to his other side tells him that it’s well past midnight. He slips out of bed soundlessly, pulling on a hoodie to counteract the chill.

The fire’s last embers are burning low, illuminating the room with a soft light. She’s curled up on the windowsill with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, curls tumbling down her back. The light from the dying fire shines through her hair like a prism.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, but she acknowledges his presence without turning to look at him. “You going to stand there all night?”

He crosses the room in a few short strides, sitting opposite her on the window sill. She slides a steaming mug across to him and he can’t quite suppress a smile at the thought that she knew he’d find her out here. Just as predictable as ever.

Natasha leans back, her head resting against the window as she looks at him, her eyes soft in the way they only are when they’re alone. “How many times d’you reckon we’ve started over by now?”

Clint raises his mug to his lips, the tea sending warmth through his entire body like a slow-burning fire. “Just one shy of enough, I’d say.”

Her smile is soft, genuine. “It always seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He returns her smile, covering her hand with his own and holding on. “Seems that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr @natrasharomanova


End file.
